


the semantic space

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Set post-Amor Fati. Mulder is a bit infatuated with the way Scully's mind works.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Could be seen as a companion piece to In The Face of All That's Known, but you don't need to read that one to understand this one.

You are on top of me, only a little because I asked you to be. This is you now. You just sort of do what you want with my body because you know I have too much for you than you’ll ever be able to take. You’ve got to fill your hands and mouth and fake little pockets in case some of it spills on the floor.   
  
All of this is branded on me: look at how I watch you. How I kiss you. I barely let you breathe.   
  
Beggars have wanted less than I do, Scully. Men on death row have felt less desperate. I don’t think you know what it’s like to need you the way I do, because I tell you I need you naked, need it right now, and you laugh and start to strip off your clothes.

  
  
***  
  
Here is how the brain works, Scully. Shut up for a minute. I know more about this than you do.  
  
We don’t think of things as separate objects. I see your breasts and I see a million other things that make me realize: breasts. Round and pink and fertile and sex and suckle and brown and infancy and milk and cancer and plastic and hands and sag and soft and small and fuck, fuck, fuck, Scully, those are your _breasts._ It’s the semantic space, where a thing is only everything else. It’s a science you know well, taxonomy, your ridiculous vocabulary and obsession with all things in their time and place and element. I know your breasts because I have waited a lifetime to know them. And when I touch them, do you feel it? How nothing ever is what we think of it as? Because it’s better. It’s a million times better. 

And you asked me why I couldn’t keep my mouth off of them, that first time. You’re a breast man, Mulder, I should have known. I left them reddened and sore and slick with spit and cum and _me_ , and you were bashfully surprised, maybe even a little happy. But it’s only part of the whole, Scully, and if I could have more of you I would.  
  
And when you think of me it’s not just _Mulder_  or Fox (thank god). I knew this before the artifact. I never simply thought of you as Scully.   
  
This is what I’m trying to get at, Scully, what I would tell you if you’d stop biting and licking at my neck. I have to think of your teeth and tongue as just objects now, their own things. Because this will not last in the semantic space.  
  
When I read your mind you told me you loved me and it was the best thing I’ve ever heard. I’ll make you say it again, Scully.   
  
But the mind isn’t just a stream of coherent thought – we are infinitely complex creatures who rely on sentences but don’t know them, not really – there is, of course, the semantic space, where we dare to make sense of things. This area is more refined in you than anyone else whose brain I was forced to invade. It’s as clear as water. Scully, I waded. Scully, I drowned in it to escape the horrors being done to me. Scully, I wanted to die in it. Stop – stop doing that. _Shit_  you feel so good and you’re so wet, just from this, just from kissing on my couch, and I lick you from my fingers and press my mouth to your ear and let you know exactly what your cunt tastes like, how much I fucking love it.  
  
There’s not a lot that makes us real. I was just a thought when I met you, a particularly morbid one. But I became real inside of you, in words like blue and clammy and sick and safe and goddamn terrifying and tall and you and partner friend father lover brother son and me and beauty death beauty hate _love_  I love you Mulder I hate you for doing this to me I love you Mulder there’s so much you need to know you’ll get through this I love you.   
  
You got so mad at me when I told you how much I loved being in your head. But Scully. Where else would I want to be?  
  
***

So you’re on top of me, the woman of my dreams. And you’re naked, you’re writhing, you’re begging for my mouth. Maybe I let you think I was going to give it to you. Maybe I’m not fair. But Scully, talk about fair. I had it all for a moment and lost it completely. Give me a break. Give me a little lenience. 

Reaching into my jeans to pull out my cock is very, very clever; I am weak as a convalescent in your hands and I’m ready to let you heal me. You lower your mouth to me like you can suck your way out of this the way I’ve inferred you’ve learned in Catholic school. I want it, Scully, I do, but I did not wake up from the promise of the only peaceful, normal death I will be granted in this world just for this. Just for only this.   
  
But I do let you lick it a little, because I like how dirty you get when you’re desperate. I have to drag you away by your hair because you won’t listen to me. I think this just encourages you, though, with the way you’re tugging at my shirt… and then I notice you’re grinding into me. Scully, I wanted to die in you.

It’s imperceptible, at first – because you’re trying so hard to distract me. Your little body is just slipping and sliding because you’re so wet and you want it so bad. But there’s purpose there, and as always I underestimated you. I only notice when you throw your head back and start riding my thigh like my dick is inside you. You couldn’t wait. You couldn’t.   
  
“Mulder,” you cry out. You are green and blue in the light of the fishtank. I don’t think of you this way in the semantic space. You run at the hot end of the color spectrum, even there. 

I stop your hand when you reach down to rub at your clit: I do this roughly so it hurts, just the way you prefer it. I think I would’ve gotten less of a response had I made you come. We have you as naked as we can get you and I am fully dressed. I can feel you leaking through the denim. Suddenly I know this is as close as I will ever get.  
  
“Like this, Scully,” I order. I cuff your wrists with my hands behind your back. “On my leg. Make yourself come like this.” I love bossing you around. I love finding new ways to make you come. “What are you thinking?”  
  
You almost stop, then, you’re onto me. That’s so sexy. I can’t ever get anything past you. But – you know how persuasive I can be. I lift my leg a little, press right into the hottest point. And then you’re mine again, and I am yours.   
  
“Why are you such a pervert, Mulder?” you ask fondly, petting my hair as I wiggle into a better position. My legs are spread, you are straddling one of them. My back rests against the arm of the couch. 

It’s tempting to look – I am a visual man, but first and foremost I am a central nervous system that desperately wants to fuck the ever loving hell out of yours. I love you, you’d thought. And you tasted sunflower seeds and smelled warm leather. What are you thinking, Scully. I don’t look at your pretty peach breasts or your pouty, filthy mouth – I avoid looking down at all costs. I look at your face.   
  
“Everything I’m thinking?” you check. Trying to avoid hurt feelings, maybe. I’m too far gone for that.  
  
I lift my knee slightly, feel you give a full-bodied shiver. “Everything.”   
  
“I want to touch my breasts,” you admit. “And I keep thinking about you in kevlar.”  
  
“You don’t need to touch your breasts. You’ll come like this. Kevlar?” 

“You look really nice in it.” We are both shy at this. I like the way you look in kevlar, too, but it’s nothing compared to you in nothing. 

“What are you seeing?”

“We’re in a closet. And you won’t stop touching me.”  
  
“Any incestuous mutants hanging around?”  
  
“Now I’m not thinking about that anymore.” I don’t want you to think about that. Scully… 

So I let myself glance down. I like how flushed you get everywhere. The urge to spread you with my fingers and watch them disappear in you is overwhelming and I am a damn fine man, I am pious and monklike and otherworldly in my resistance to touch you. 

“That time in your office –” you pause to fix your posture, so your tits swing in my face and you can find a better rhythm. I like the sound this makes, you on me. It sounds like rolling around in bed. We’ll do that later. I wonder how it feels, what it would be like to come all over your hose-covered hip. Another time maybe. “When you kept sliding extra paperwork into my pile when you thought I wasn’t looking and I caught you and grabbed your wrist in the act and…”  
  
“And?”

“You were so _hard,_  Mulder, and when I touched you you looked like you were going to…”

“what? Like I was going to come?”  
  
“Yeah.” You let out all of the air in your lungs like you have enough to spare. “What was that?”  
  
“I think I spun too hard in the rolling chair and the vibrations caught me.”  You roll your eyes and I suddenly remember there are parts to my whole. It hurts I want you so bad. Not yet.  
  
“Mulder?” The voice in your head says it that way, too – husky, on the edge of piteous and oversexed. Mulder, I love you. “You turned in that 302 to Skinner, right?”  
  
“Don’t talk about Skinner.”  
  
“Did you just get harder?” Hilarious, Scully. “You told me to tell you everything I was thinking.” You’re always more controlled right before you’re about to come. You know I couldn’t deny it to you. “That one time. Consorting in your hotel room.”  
  
“Which one?” You’re still not understanding, Scully. 

“You asked me to…” with my hands on your hips you have to go slower, the way I’m holding you down. I can’t feel the ridge of your clit through the fabric but I fucking try. “My hands on your throat.”

“I came right here.” I’m so much bigger than you, my hand spans over your belly. I’m so much bigger than you and there’s something I want, Scully. “I couldn’t hold it.”

You’re so much bigger than me. We’re nothing without our context. I’m nothing, Scully. What’s this without love and sex and death. What’s this without you, trembling all over – and you can’t do this, Scully, not until – 

“What are you thinking?”  
  
You have to use all your strength to try and move. I’m forcing you down, making you stagnant. Try me, Scully. Try to move. My jeans are ruined. Your body is hard where I’m holding it, hard like your determination and the shell around your heart that I’m forever taking large swings at. I always liked you in kevlar, Scully. 

“You’re playing basketball. I enter. Your eyes go to my legs, you forget the game…”  
  
Scully what color am I.  
  
“That first time, your mouth on me. You couldn’t. You couldn’t let up. You made me cry.”   
  
Scully what’s the weather like. Where do you see me. What does my hair look like.   
  
“Oh, god. I think… I hope you turned in the 302. Please touch me.” 

Is it hot or cold where I am right now inside of you. What’s the last thing you remember about me. Scully am I soft or am I hard or am I both.

“I’m going to come I’m going to come you’re in the car it’s too hot you roll up your sleeves and you see me looking at your arms and you make fun of me for it I’m coming I’m coming but I want to kiss them Mulder MULDER FUCK move your leg just one more time oh _no_  oh god oh god.”  
  
Scully tell me you love me. 


End file.
